


Outfox Vol. 4: “Exciting First Issue!” Part 4 - Outfox Beyond

by ExtremistComics



Series: Outfox [4]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Anal, Anonymous Sex, Aphrodisiacs, Blow Jobs, Bondage, Cunnilingus, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, Fingerfucking, Futanari, Hate Sex, Orgy, Other, Parody, Polyamory, Porn With Plot, Public Sex, Superheroes, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-13
Updated: 2020-10-13
Packaged: 2021-03-07 15:49:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26980129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ExtremistComics/pseuds/ExtremistComics
Summary: Reformed villain (and Sparrowhawk’s mother) the Gamekeeper puts Outfox on the trail of the Idol’s operation with a surprising revelation about another one of Outfox’ most diabolical villains. To evade justice, Idol distracts the heroes by putting dozens, if not hundreds of lives in danger. And then everybody started fucking. No, really, I mean everybody.
Series: Outfox [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1951930
Comments: 1
Kudos: 2





	Outfox Vol. 4: “Exciting First Issue!” Part 4 - Outfox Beyond

Gamekeeper’s apartment downtown is a very different animal than Jenny’s. Evidently she just got an advance on a memoir, which explains the gap between her living situation and the pay she sporadically gets as a consulting detective for the NLPD. “That’s a real thing?” Carla asks as we descend the fire escape from the roof to Parker’s floor. “I thought ‘genius civilian consulting detective’ was a thing they made up in the 20s for mystery novels.” “Costumed vigilantes and fiendish supervillains were made up for pulp novels in the 20s too,” I say, “and yet here we are.”

Parker Bradley is cleaning leftovers out of her fridge while I tap on the window, scaring what appears to be the absolute hell out of her. “Shit,” she yells, “I have a goddamn door!” Jenny’s place is in a part of town that’s damn near abandoned and is no stranger to being patrolled by masked crimefighters, but Outfox and her crew walking through the lobby of Parker’s building would be likely to draw a bit of attention. Parker is in a camisole and plain white panties, because it’s 10:43 PM and we tend to forget not everybody keeps the same hours we do.

Carla stays behind to keep watch, over what I’m not sure, while Kelly and I crawl in through the window. “We need some info on a group of dealers who work with Idol,” I say. “Do you know a Polly, Inez and Layla?” “We’re not looking for them,” Kelly adds, “we just need to ask them some questions.”

As soon as Kelly speaks, Parker eyes her with some suspicion, taking a second before she says, “Yeah, I know them. I used to anyway.” “We were given a place we could find them,” I say, “but it’s a bit out of date.” “I could give you a place to meet them,” Parker says, “but that’s the mother of all bad ideas.” “We weren’t going to go ourselves,” I say, “we were going to have Diva reach out, or Mother Nature if she was willing.”

“I don’t know,” Parker says, “the ones who are still in the shit aren’t the biggest fans of three chicks who go around trying to save ‘fallen women’ from themselves. They give me enough side-eye for that shit, and they still kind of like me. You have to throw plastic out if something gets moldy inside it, right?”

“Yeah, don’t use that again,” I say, hesitating before the next, bigger favor I ask for. “If they trust you, then you could talk to them for us.”

Parker slips into a smirk of absolute disbelief. “So now that I’m running errands for you, can we talk about you bringing my future daughter-in-law into my fucking apartment?”

“I’m right here,” Kelly says.

“I haven’t seen Sierra in over a year,” she says, finally looking in Kelly’s direction. “And you’re probably wearing panties right now that still smell like her perfume.” I’m pretty sure she knows that you can’t wear underwear under what Kelly is wearing, but the point stands. “You want me on your little team now? Sure. Gladly. I’d love to work alongside my own fucking daughter. But I would like to actually talk to her first.”

“I can’t make her do anything she doesn’t want to do,” I say, cutting off Kelly before she can say the same thing phrased much less diplomatically. “If you want me to tell her something for you, I can.”

“There’s nothing I can do for her,” Parker says. “There’s nothing that would be enough. I’d have to have an actual, full-on, heart-to-heart talk with her to get through to her, and she won’t do it. Give me that.”

“I can make that happen,” Kelly says, which comes as a surprise to me as much as to Parker.

“Oh, okay. Sure you can. You just decided not to,” Parker says. “You know I’m a detective now, right? I do have some sense of absolute bullshit.”

“I can get her to talk to you,” Kelly says, “because I told her not to. And if I told her to give you a chance, she might. That would mean something, after I told her you were never going to change. That shitty parents don’t change.”

I’ve never seen Parker Bradley speechless before.

“Tell me what you need me to ask them,” she says after several seconds of silent fuming. “Then get your twig-legged catamite out of my kitchen before I call the truancy officer.”

“I’m twenty-four,” Kelly mutters under her breath as we quickly make our departure through the window. “How did it go?” Carla asks. “Exactly as well as I expected,” I say.

Around 8 the next night, I get a call from Parker.

“Is this a secure line?” Parker asks.

“You can say anything you need to say,” I tell her. “Secret identity shit?” Parker asks, making me completely freeze. “What could that possibly have to do with street-level drug pushers dealing in princess-pink sex dust?”

“They told me about an interesting rumor that’s going around that kind of blows all that out of the water,” Parker says. “They told me Idol fell on hard times a while ago, financially. All that checks out. When her flunkies started to get sick of getting their teeth knocked out for bringing her lukewarm coffee, she lost a lot of capital, criminal and otherwise.”

“Alright,” I say, “where is this going?”

“The rumor is that she’s being bankrolled by some rich creep,” Parker says, and before she even says it, I know what’s coming. “You have any idea why people seem to be convinced that rich creep is Zora fucking Miller?”

Fuck.

God damn it, Esther.

Parker actually is as smart as she claims to be. While she was in prison, awaiting parole and going stir crazy, she devoted the energy she had been putting into prefab evil schemes for sale to solving other great conundrums. She deduced my real identity fairly easily. It helped that she knew her daughter was the Cheater, that the new hero Sparrowhawk also looked exactly like her, and that Sparrowhawk was linked romantically to the current Sparrow, who looked exactly like Sierra’s girlfriend Kelly Gander, live-in “sugar baby” (as the gossip rags insist on calling her) of billionaire Zora Miller, who happens to look quite a bit like Outfox. I mean, the threads are there to be pulled. In a sense, Esther actually helps my case by making me seem like even more of a horny, profligate disaster than I can pretend to be on my own.

“It’s Esther,” I say. “It’s the fucking Stranger.”

Dr. Esther House was a brilliant criminal profiler, and for a while, my fiancée. She also knew how to follow the clues leading to my secret identity, as I’d made the mistake of trying to hide my costumed career from her, and she did not take the news well. Rather than tell me she was leaving, she gave into some serious demons I did not know were lurking beneath her brilliant, adoring surface. She started dressing in a homemade Outfox costume, apparently good enough to fool people from a distance, and committing crimes disguised as me. She must have been under the impression I’d figure out it was her, because her plan became considerably more elaborate. She began staging attacks against small-time criminal outfits, not dressed as Outfox, but rather a second identity, “the Stranger,” a mysterious figure who spread stories that she had a vendetta against me personally after I had dismantled her own criminal empire, and left hints that she was the one impersonating Outfox. For months, I was convinced somebody really was out to get me, and I had no idea how right I was. I became paranoid, chalking up every villain and street thug who got the drop on me to a vast conspiracy by “the Stranger.” In reality, all she was doing apart from the Stranger’s theatrical displays was attacking police and robbing crime bosses in her knockoff Outfox getup, but she knew she was in my head and she kept leaving misleading clues that she had grander plans. Meanwhile, the authorities had branded Outfox a criminal, and I was suddenly the most wanted woman in New London.

I never actually figured out her game. I simply tracked down the counterfeit Outfox and unmasked her by force. I’d had absolutely no idea it was Esther. I left her at the door of the NLPD headquarters, both of us still in our costumes, to prove her deception. She was arrested for the crimes of the false Outfox, but escaped in transit and left the city for over a year. When she returned, she had been surgically altered to resemble me exactly. She was obsessed with becoming me, even as she also seemed consumed with possessing me, and destroying me. Her first plan was simply to abduct me, replace me in all aspects of my life, and keep me prisoner indefinitely, but my allies saw through her fairly easily. She eventually resorted to simply adopting the identity of the Stranger for real, becoming a frequent thorn in my side ever since.

“So you just let her walk around with your face?” Parker says. “She could wreak absolute havoc on your life.”

“We have sort of a cold war arrangement,” I say. “I can foil her schemes all I want, but she knows I can’t take her to the authorities without explaining why the woman who wants to be Outfox would have herself altered to look like Zora Miller. But she can’t take her character assassination too far, because the moment she makes me life harder than outing myself would, I can just reveal my identity and send her to jail. She can’t even expose my identity herself, or she loses her leverage. If I tell people Dr. Esther House, wanted fugitive, is wearing my face, it will suddenly be a lot harder for her to hide in plain sight.”

“So you have to just let her pretend to be you?” Parker asks. “She’s even a member of the Garden,” I reply. “She goes to their little Eyes Wide Shut parties wearing my face behind a masquerade mask. They all think I’m one of them. Obviously they can’t point fingers at me, because they don’t want to be known as members either, but it’s led to some awkward interactions with powerful people in the city.”

“This is taking it too far, though,” Parker says. “It is,” I say, “and I have no idea what I’m going to do. Does this at least help us get to Idol?”

“Actually,” Parker says, “it does.” She texts me a link to an Instagram account for some drunken trust-fund kid influencer, and she’s bragging in a nine-second video that the one and only Zora Miller is talking to the guy behind the bar five feet from her. The video is six minutes old. “That club is called Seqret, with a fucking Q, on Lovelace between 12th and 13th. It’s owned by an LLC with no other assets called Tiki Food & Beverage, registered to definitely real person ‘Jane Sobriquet.’ It’s Idol’s club, Fox. Forget working up the chain, she might be doing half her business out of this shithole.”

Gotcha.

“Thanks, Parker. I do very much owe you one,” I say. “More than one, Foxtrap,” Parker says, “but honestly, fuck Idol. Call me and tell me how this went. Later days, buddy. Same Fox time, same Fox channel.”

Carla turns the corner at the end of the hall and walks toward me. “We need hands on this,” I say. “We just got the big one. Esther is working with Idol and they’re operating out of a club downtown. This could be place where it all happens, not just the drugs.”

“Naeva is home,” Carla says, “Kelly is absolutely pumped for this one, and she brought Sierra. But I also just had an interesting chat with Diva, and she wants in. Her and Norma, if she’s behaving herself tonight.”

“I’ll have Catherine keep everybody else looped in, but that should be enough. They probably have no idea we know anything,” I say. “This is the big show. You ready?”

Carla is already suited up. “What do you think?” I don’t bother pointing out that she frequently wears her suit during sex, which might have dampened her badass moment.

The club is not terribly large, but the buildings on this block, which were factories and offices before they mostly went under and the hipsters settled in, all have multi-level basements. The two-story building seems, from the light coming out of the second-story windows, to have been opened up into a single, massive room except for an area in the back, not large enough to house anything not needed for the operation of the club. Anything Idol is up to is definitely going on in the basements, but there’s no access to them from outside. Of course, any basement access is going to be in the backroom, which is good for us. No civilians milling around, just the overworked staff of a club full of rich douchebags. Not the types to get in the way of somebody looking to kick their boss’ ass, though there will probably be proper syndicate security guarding the door.

Not that we’re ignoring the front. There are very likely armed gangsters in the club proper posing as bouncers, if not lounging around as patrons. To split the focus of the whole operation, Foxfire, Diva and Le Fou are headed into the fray of the party. In full costume. They’re popular among the selfie-with-a-superhero crowd, so it won’t seem odd initially that they’re around. It’s hardly Naeva’s scene, but they don’t know that. I contemplated having somebody on the inside in civilian clothes, but the options we had with public identities are too recognizable, and the ones with secret identities would expose themselves if they had to spring into action. Thank God for starfuckers and fangirls.

Kelly and I approach one entrance to the back, while Carla and Sierra take the other. Both are guarded by a single armed goon in an immaculately tailored suit, but they go down pretty easy. Kelly and I come in through the window, further from the entrance to the basement than the door the others are waiting at. As planned, security advances on us, and once they close in, Carla and Sierra knock the door in on them and take them from the rear. This is why you don’t try to defend a room with two points of entry, geniuses. But we won’t have that advantage if the basement is heavily guarded.

We avoid making enough noise to alert anybody in the club, but they definitely heard in the basement, forcing us to gain entry as quickly as we can to prevent their mounting a stronger defense. It’s probably moot, because the best option is to snap the door open, toss down a flashbang, close it, and wait until they’re blind and deaf to move in. That part goes as planned, but the door between the backroom and the club opens. We didn’t anticipate the staff would get involved, but when I look toward the door, I see who just came in, and it’s me.

“…fuck,” Esther says. I hadn’t expected she’d still be among the rabble when we got here, but when she saw Foxfire and the others she must have wisely decided to break away. Carla blocks the basement door, and Sierra tackles Esther against the wall. I grab her by the throat, and bark “What are you doing with Idol?”

“Exactly what they’re saying,” she says, “I’m bankrolling all this. And you know what I get in exchange? Whatever the fuck I want.” The woman is actually smiling. “I heard you had fun with my girl Debra last week.” “Honey Badger? That was you?” I say. “I brought her along,” Esther says. “I met her last year. She was…very drawn to the idea of being with a perfect replica of you, and our affection for Zora Miller isn’t the only thing we have in common.”

I’m more than a little sickened by the idea. “You’re using my face to pick up disturbed individuals who are obsessed with me?” I hiss. “That’s a new low, even for you.” “It works like a charm,” she says. “You have a very devoted fan club out there. I never pretended to be you with them, but I was close enough. Even for Cleopatra.” She smirks with even more venomous verve, and chuckles. “Even for Foxcatcher.” I slap her across her stolen face.

“Kelly,” I say, “you still know your knots, right? Tie this one up tight.” I pull Esther away from the wall and Kelly gets cuffs on her wrists, pushes her down to the floor with a disdain I rarely see in Kelly, sits on her legs before she can right herself and slaps another pair on her ankles. “Looks like we’ve got half the set already,” Sierra says. “We’re very far from done here,” I caution, and there’s a loud thud.

“Ladies,” Carla says, “I hate to be a drag, but they’re about to knock this door down.”

I put a finger up, and after a few more thuds, I give Carla the signal just before the next one should land. Carla pulls open the door, and a beefy motherfucker tumbles onto her face. I charge in, scattering a handful of smoke pellets. The other three follow close behind, going low to dodge the gunfire laid down by the few goons who are packing, and not blind, and upright, crashing into their legs and knocking them to the floor while my quick dash across the room in the opposite direction momentarily turns their gaze. An encounter with multiple firearms requires split-second timing, with even our Kevlar-woven suits being nearly useless against more than a glancing shot in most places. Every time a guard hits the floor, her gun gets kicked into the corner, even the ones who got the worst of the grenade. Can’t be too careful.

“Fucking hate guns,” I say to nobody in particular. We’ve dropped the lot, at least in this room. One of the goons had a walkie, and it crackles to life with the unhinged voice of Rachel Kipling. “You incompetent, you impertinent…you impotent motherfuckers,” she croaks. “Anybody still fucking alive up there?”

“Hi Rachel,” Carla says into the radio. “We’re here at Secret-with-a-Q to kick ass and sip $20 appletinis, and you appear to be running out of ass.”

The hatch to the next level down opens itself, hydraulic door slowly turning upward.

“Allow me,” the voice on the radio says.

Nobody says the word “trap,” but we silently agree this next part necessitates caution.

I inspect the open hatch carefully, and climb down the ladder. There’s no apparent trap. Idol is sitting at an impractically huge mahogany desk at the other end of the room. One of her hands is on the desk, but the other is below it.

“Stay up there,” I shout up the hatch, and Carla immediately violates my explicit instructions.

“So here’s how this is going to go,” Idol says. “I don’t have a gun. Don’t worry about that.” With her other hand, she hits a button on a device on her desk, and part of the wall behind her opens. Of course she has an escape tunnel.

“What I have is this,” she says, and pulls her hand out from under the desk. It’s holding a small cylindrical device, like a tiny pen. Her thumb clicks a button at the end of it before I can dive at her.

“There’s a bomb in the club,” she says. “It’s about to go off, and it’s definitely going to leave a hell of a mess for my staff to clean up. You’d best allow me to leave now. If any of you attempt to follow me, I click this little wonder again and it goes off right now. One of my girls in the club has something you can use to stop it, but you need to get there fast.”

I scramble up the ladder and hurry Kelly and Sierra out of the basement. Carla does not follow. I pause at the door to the backroom, just for a second, and see Carla finally ascend. “She’s gone,” she solemnly declares. I don’t need to tell her she made the right choice.

The two of us enter the club and see the mayhem that ensued the moment Sparrow and Sparrowhawk emerged from the back. Sparrowhawk is waylaid by adoring fans, but Sparrow is eminently willing given the circumstances to rush past them roughly enough to get behind the bar. Carla and I fan out, and I make a call to the others through my earpiece. “Foxfire, Diva, Le Fou, we’re sweeping the club for an explosive device, look for anything suspicious.”

“Roger, Fox,” Diva says. “Not much happened up here. Two of the guards in this room had a walkie, but one had an unfortunate encounter with Foxfire in the bathroom that did not end the way she hoped, and I knocked the other one out in the VIP. Nobody seems to have noticed she’s unconscious. She’s got those big douchebag aviators on.”

“Are you near her?” I ask. “Check her pockets, check everything. One of the guards here has something we need to turn off the device, or at least Idol wants us to think she does. If anybody is near the bathroom or has visual on another guard, don’t waste any time.”

“Uhh, guys?” Kelly says. “There’s a timer under the bar. Twelve seconds. But there’s no bomb.”

“What do you mean ‘no bomb’?” Naeva says.

“There’s a timer,” Kelly says, “but it’s not attached to anything. Could be wireless?”

“The whole building could be rigged with explosives,” I say. I pull a device from my belt that emits an ear-splitting high-pitched shriek, hoping to send everybody out of the room. It’s unlikely to cause anything but a stampede, but we don’t have time to do this right. Everybody we can get clear of the building is a victory at this point.

“I love you guys,” Kelly whispers into the commlink. She sees how much time we have left, but the difference is academic to me. “I love all of you, so much.”

I hear a loud sound all at once from several places inside the building, but nothing explodes.

Pink mist begins to pour from all the air vents, and disperses very quickly.

“Well,” Carla says, “we’re not dead, but we’re definitely fucked.”

“Is this the same stuff Liz had?” Kelly asks. “Oh shit,” Naeva replies.

“Is there something I fuckin’ need to know, ladies?” Diva asks.

The crowds forming at the exits stop panicking, not because they no longer have reason to be alarmed but because they have a very different sensation than fear quickly creeping through their bodies.

“Oh, fuck,” Diva says. “Nevermind, I think I know exactly what this stuff does. These club skanks are starting to rise precipitously in skankitude.”

The crowds disperse a little, but only because they’re beginning to break off into smaller groups, and they need space for whatever they’re about to do. Clothes start being shed in great quantities. The guards who haven’t been dispatched stick breathing devices into their mouths and start to head towards one of us each.

Le Fou takes one of the guards down with a hefty vodka bottle. “Bases loaded!” she cries out. “Grand slam! Woo!” Sierra ducks when one tries to tackle her, and the brute flips right over her. These rent-a-thugs aren’t a huge threat, but our quickly changing demeanors indicate we might be a much greater menace to ourselves.

“Nice! You fuckin’ twatted that one proper” a random club denizen with a shaved head exclaims at Sierra in a thick Scottish accent. She’s clearly older than the average customer here, but she stands out with her black lipstick, full moon sunglasses at night and indoors, and relatively casual attire. “I like your skirt,” she says, “easy access, yeah?”

“I like your jacket,” Sierra says. The Glaswegian flirt is wearing a black leather jacket, and doesn’t appear to have anything on under it but tattoos. “You’re pretty easy to access yourself, aren’t you? Cute accent, too.”

The Scottish tart puts her arm around a nearby friend, who wears a big pink and white dress in what I’m told is called the “gothic-lolita” fashion. “This is Anne, she’s from Cardiff,” the bald Scot declares. “Look at me,” Anne says, “meeting new people and I haven’t even got my face on.” “You’re pretty nice with or without makeup,” Sierra says.

“Watch your fucking surroundings,” Naeva says in Sierra’s ear and all of ours. “Don’t get distracted.”

“Here’s a cute one,” a tall, denim-clad woman with dark, curly hair says to a pale woman next to her. They’re both standing next to Kelly, who seems a bit dazed already. “Are you a real superhero, little lady?” “I am,” Kelly says, seemingly a bit oblivious as she grapples with her racing pulse and lightheaded state, “and we need to clear you people out of here.” “She looks like fun,” the pale woman says. She has some sort of piercings all over her arms and the upper part of her chest. “We ought to take this one home.”

The denim-jacketed charmer puts an arm around Kelly, who seems more intrigued by her overtures already. “You think my friend here is pretty, superbabe?” she asks Kelly. “She’s scary,” Kelly groans. “I like scary girls.” “That is exactly the right answer, spandex,” the woman laughs. “I like to scare pretty girls,” her pale friend says.

“Carla, are you still relatively lucid?” I ask into my commlink. “We need to search the guards. They might have something that can help with this.” My own body is starting to tingle and twitch, but I’m a bit more composed than the others.”

“Carla’s not gonna be answering any questions at the moment,” Diva answers.

Carla’s formidable ass moves up and down, muscles visibly clenching and releasing, as she pounds her equally ferocious cock into a spray-tanned reveler who is splayed on the floor, gold sequined dress pulled up past her navel. As Carla satisfies her own phallic needs, the tan girl’s date stands over her quivering partner, her dick being worked over hungrily by Carla’s mouth. She’s beyond lost, and despite her strong will I’m not surprised she’s the first to succumb completely. It doesn’t take much pushing to get her on top of a pretty stranger.

Diva seems relatively clear-headed, even annoyed by the proceedings. Le Fou, characteristically, is going completely wild, humping Diva from behind through both their clothes while a patron of the club does the same to her. “Seems to be a party churning up around us,” Norma says. “Water’s fine for hoppin’ in, Red.” “You go ahead,” Diva says resignedly, “I still have work to do.”

Le Fou obliges her request, slipping her already meager costume off and tumbling backward into what was little more than a heap of human flesh, several club kids having eagerly shed their clothes and joined the festivities, putting anything anywhere it fit. “One more for the pile!” she exclaims to great enthusiasm among the entangled.

The denim devil runs her hands down a fully nude Kelly as the strange buddy teases her, drawing a line down Kelly’s torso with the point of a safety pin, not scratching the surface but inducing nervous excitement in the overwhelmed Sparrow. “Do you like a little pain?” the pale temptress asks. “I don’t think I do, but I love whatever this is,” Kelly says, almost panting with desire. “Give her a nice, deep kiss, Mandy,” the dark stranger behind Kelly says. “Mandy” agrees, taking Kelly’s full length into her mouth. “She could suck the roof off a house,” the stranger says. “She’s a talented girl,” Kelly moans.

Sierra, clad in nothing but the Scottish girl’s jacket, sits up on a barstool, the bald Brit burying her head between Sierra’s legs, lapping away. Anne, the ornate doll, kisses Sierra passionately, finger tracing tight circles around Sierra’s nipple. “What’s going on under that dress?” Sierra asks. “Too much to take off here,” Anne pouts, “but you can slip under my skirt if you get peckish for the fine meal Mo is making of you. I’m not too attached to these bloomers, and I always carry scissors.” Bald Mo stands up, and undoes the button and zipper of her ripped jeans. “Can’t say I’ve not fucked a superhero before, but you’re a real beauty even out of that lot.” Sierra laughs and leans back against the bar as Mo starts to work her hips.

“Anybody out there?” I say. “I’ve checked the guard in the VIP and two of the ones we just dropped,” Diva replies. “How are you still keeping it together?” I ask, “Even I can barely think straight.”

“I used to fuck Fantome,” Diva says with jaded bemusement, “and Octavia practically jizzes mescaline. I’ve probably built up a tolerance to every molecule you can make out of stable fucking elements.”

“Let her handle that,” Naeva says, appearing before me out of nowhere, most of her costume absent. “You and me, we seem to be the only ones left at the dance without a partner. You’ve been neglecting me lately, missy.”

“We should probably hold on to the amount of control we still have,” I say. “We seem to be made of a little bit sterner stuff than the others.”

“No,” Naeva says, “you just have a stick up your ass like I do.” Here eyes brighten like she just had a great idea. “Actually, you know what?” She leans in to whisper her revelation in my ear, like it’s her most closely-guarded secret. “I’ve actually never had it up the ass before.”

“I find that hard to believe,” I say, not registering that this could come off as an insult if said to a less adventurous type.

“It’s true,” she says. “You’re, uhh, you’re a bit big, if I may flatter thee, for my first time, but,” she starts guffawing like a hyena, “I don’t think that’ll be a problem tonight. I’m feeling pretty…relaxed. I think if I sat bareass on one of those barstools right now, I’d have to get it removed by a fuckin’ doctor. A surgeon. A fuckin’ throat surgeon.” As if to demonstrate what part her ass is, she turns around and presses her butt, firm but more plump than I remember, into my crotch. “Most girls pretend they don’t like it, but everybody I know says they can’t get enough of it. Maybe they’re all doing it wrong.”

I mutter some excuses about how we have a job to do, and we shouldn’t let this chemical intoxicant cloud our judgment, but whatever I say is probably not important, because while I say it all I open the crotch panel of my suit. “Is one of those wonderful toys on your belt a bottle of lube?” she asks. “Because I’m pretty horny, but I don’t think there’s any kind of horny you can be that makes your butt lube itself up.”

It’s possible she’s kidding, but I do have lube.

“I think when you say ‘it’s my first time,’ you’re supposed to say ‘be gentle,’ but I really need somebody to grind me into a fucking paste right now,” Naeva says. “And if it hurts, I’m pretty good with pain.” I waste a large amount of lubricant making sure my dick and her opening are sufficiently prepared, but once I start pressing into her, I lose all control and go for the whole ballgame pretty much at once, and fortuitously it does seem the amount I globbed on was sufficient.

The sounds she make do not sound pained, but they do sound frightened. That’s a natural response to her first backdoor activity involving a cock the width of her wrist disappearing up her in two jabs. Once she stops gasping, the next sound she produces is an “oh fuck” of such volume I question if she orgasmed the instant I was fully within her. It appears she actually did. Her already snug entry contracts to a point that’s almost painful, her legs spasming under her like she’s being electrocuted, causing me to have to steady her with my arms. If that distraction hadn’t come at the right moment, I might have had a rather brief shelf-life as well.

“I can barely feel my legs,” she says. “Can you please…do that again, and never stop for any reason?”

Not one to refuse a polite request, I lift her off her useless legs entirely and begin to thrust into her in a full standing position, trying to distribute the motion between my arms moving her and my legs pushing my hips to ensure I don’t tire too quickly. It will likely not matter, because I doubt my cock will be able to hold up to as much of this as the rest of my body does. The entire time I’m inside her, she howls with an animalistic abandon that sounds like a single, continuous climax, but doesn’t seem to be exactly that, as those contractions that accompanied the first one aren’t present. If they were, I’d be a goner by now four times over.

“Aha!” Diva shouts in my ear. She should probably be more quiet when speaking into an earpiece, but I barely even hear her over the bacchanal madness unfurling both around and on top of me. “I checked the guard in the bathroom. I’ve got something here.” It’s not exceptionally easy to notice over the roar of the crowd as they all penetrate any orifice they have with anything that will fit into it, but I hear the air vents click off. The pink clouds still hang in the air, but they fade quickly. “There’s a pink button and a blue button,” Diva continues, “and I really hope these all do what I think they do.”

Once the stormy pinkness has drifted away, I hear the air conditioning system click back on. After a few seconds, a thinner blue haze begins to seep out of the vents. Between what I imagine are truly shattering climaxes sapping their strength, and what I assume is the calming effect of the blue gas, the revelers start to pacify.

“…did I seriously just let you fuck my ass?” Naeva says, sounding a little groggy. “That fucking thing could’ve gutted me. I hope you’re having fun back there, because I don’t think I’m gonna be able to sit in a chair until July.”

With about a five-second groan like the waking of the dead, I dump what feels like half a gallon of sperm up Naeva.

Carla finishes off the last of the surprisingly orderly line of waiting cocks that had gathered to receive her skilled oral services while she fucked their girlfriends. Le Fou sleeps contentedly in the affectionate embrace of two perfect strangers who just took turns using her ass as a Fleshlight until they literally couldn’t cum any more. Kelly finishes inside pale Mandy as the pierced curiosity’s rugged friend mounts Kelly from behind. Anne the elegantly attired lifts her skirt at the end of a glorious orgasm to let Sierra out from under, her fellow expat Mo smoking a clove cigarette down to a cinder on the floor next to them.

Diva strides over the passed-out figures of dozens of nude celebrants, a look of absolute fury on her face. “I grabbed one of those breather things off a guard, so next time this happens, you can be the only fucking not getting laid at an orgy,” she says to me. “You’re fucking welcome, by the way.”

“Stranger!” Kelly suddenly shouts.

“Hey,” the curly-haired seductress lying on top of her says, “that’s a rude thing to call a lady with her cock up your ass.”

“Shit,” Naeva says. “I knew that bitch would be more trouble.”

Returning to the backroom with various difficult-to-locate pieces of our costumes missing, we find Esther exactly where we left her. From under the bottom of her skimpy dress, a puddle of fluid drifts across the floor as she shakes from head to toe.

“Fuck me! Fuck me!” she shouts. “Somebody just get it in me, I can’t fucking stand it!”

“Looks like you weren’t the only one not getting laid at an orgy,” Carla says.

“Good,” Diva says, “let’s see what we can do about that.”

Esther’s cock is flaccid, which would be surprising, but the position of her body and the trail of semen she’s deposited tell quite a story. She appears to have milked at least two orgasms out of her prick just by clamping down on it with her soft thighs. Highly inventive, I might have to try that. Her moist, engorged vulva, though, indicates that she has a fierce itch to be stimulated by other means that is not being fulfilled.

Diva flips Esther onto her back and jams a hand up her short dress. “Is this what you want? This better fucking work,” she says, furiously jamming her fingers in and out of Esther’s famished cunt. “Don’t stop! Fuck!” Esther says, then she lets forth a breathy, smoky moan of total ecstasy with that beautifully deep voice of hers. The considerable dampness of her crotch is nothing against the torrent she unleashes all over the front of Diva’s costume. “You better make that worth it,” Diva spits. Esther’s worn-out dick manages to spring back to life, and Diva shoots to her feet, wriggles out of her tiny, pink cotton panties, patterned with stars, rainbows and unicorns, leading me to assume their skimpy coverage is due perhaps not to fashion trends but their not being made for an adult.

Diva lowers herself onto Esther’s reanimated prick, which would have prompted a throaty shout of “It’s alive!” out of the always-on Diva on a less frustrating occasion, but she’s all business now. “It might,” Esther pants, “it might take me a while. To finish, I mean, I uhh…”

“If you don’t finish then that’s your fucking problem,” Diva says. Diva flicks herself up and down in a serious of seemingly joyless hops, like she’s simply trying to scratch an annoying itch. “And it would help if you didn’t talk, you fucking weirdo.”

“That’s not what you look like during sex, by the way,” Carla whispers to me. “She looks like you, but the expression is completely different.” “She doesn’t usually look like she’s being tortured,” I clarify, “but I appreciate the sentiment.”

Despite her clear exhaustion, Esther actually does start to flutter her legs together, signaling imminent release. “I’m real close, but if you don’t either hold back right now or stay hard after, I’m gonna cut it off and have it fuckin’ taxidermied so it might actually be some use to me, you little worm,” Diva warns. Esther grits her teeth until her eyes water, but Diva manages to ride the allegedly fearsome Stranger to a climax of her own just before Esther squirts what must basically be water into her. “Good job, crazy,” she says condescendingly, patting the side of Esther’s face. “Maybe I’ll have them keep you at my place, since apparently it’d be bad PR to put ‘Zora Miller’ in jail.”

“You can laugh at me all you want,” Esther says, “but I really needed that. And I used to have to pay thousands of dollars to have a girl in a latex bustier insult my cock and threaten to chop it off if I came too early while my hands were handcuffed behind me. What do I owe you?” Diva kicks Esther’s silicone right tit like a soccer ball, which she did not seem to enjoy as much, before casually saying, “Who’s hungry?”

In our cramped bed later that night, both Kelly and Naeva lie on my left while Carla leans over me to my right, stroking a finger between my breasts. We are utterly exhausted, but while Kelly and Naeva dream away in a tight, loving spoon, Carla and I are unaccustomed to turning in this early even after a long day.

“She got away,” I say, killing the mood. “Esther didn’t,” she replies, “although God knows what we’re going to do with that one.”

“It just feels so pointless sometimes,” I admit. “I just thought we had her this time.”

"Well,” Carla says, “let’s think about what we accomplished on the way here. You've rediscovered your love of cunnilingus, in both directions. I have a new gutter punk firecracker who positively lives to feel me rip her ass open. You have a standing date to get the world's finest titjob from the Venus of Willendorf, who you were convinced still hated your guts. You got to nut yourself into a coma with some mutant shark pussy, who I think is now dating your sidekick and her magic g-spot probe. We started a mother on the road to reconciling with her daughter, we stopped a psychotic imposter pretending to be you, we rumbled the headquarters of Idol's operation, we blew about two dozen minds at a surprise orgy, and we found out our good friend is immune to nearly every substance known to science, plus we got to watch her ruthlessly dom your ex. That's not exactly a wasted journey."

"We also found out Honey Badger is fucking Esther because she looks exactly like me, though,” I add, “which just about spoils the whole thing."

“And Cleopatra, though,” Carla says, “which might make her a little less thirsty for your holy baby juice. Maybe we should arrange a conjugal visit.”

“And Foxcatcher,” I say, “which I can’t even let myself think about right now.” “Yeah, that’s a heavy one,” she says. “But you know we did good, right?”

“Of course,” I say. After a too-long silence, I say, “I might go talk to Maggie tomorrow. It’s been a while.”

“If you think you should, then you should,” Carla says.

“I’m just dredging up so much old shit right now,” I say. “It always makes me feel bad about her.”

“Maggie put herself where she is,” Carla says. “And she’s doing better, right?”

“Last time I saw her, yeah,” I say. “She’ll be out before we know it.”

Carla lays her head on my shoulder for a second and just rests. “It’s really nice that you can even keep all this in your head,” she eventually says. “All these people, whether you want to say you let them down, or you just couldn’t stop them from destroying themselves. You feel bad about Maggie. And you shouldn’t, really, but it’s nice that you do, that you still care. You feel bad about Esther, and Charlie, and Spencer.”

“You lose a lot of people to their own bullshit because your life is insane,” Carla says. “It’s not necessarily you. They have more in common than you. The thing they have in common, Spencer and maybe Charlie aside, is they’re all kinda fucked in the head.”

“There’s no such thing as crazy,” I say. “Everybody has their own shit to sort out. Some of it hurts more than others. For you, for everybody else, for somebody. Some of us get lucky and our demons bite a little less hard. Nothing to brag about. I don’t feel anything but sad for ninety percent of the people who want me dead, let alone the ones who want to just…own me, and lock me up in their attic somewhere. It’s a disease. And we all have something. We both go out looking for people to punch, we both fuck anything that can say the word ‘yes’ after we do it. I’m not special just because I have a couple billion dollars to spend on leather and smoke bombs.”

“I don’t know, you’re not wrong,” Carla says. After a bit, she says, “I think you should go see Maggie. She’s probably doing a lot better, and it’ll make you feel a little less fucked up over her.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too,” she says. “Try to get some sleep for once. I’m sure you’ve got another end-of-the-world disaster planned for tomorrow.”

She turns off the lamp and lays her head back down on my shoulder. With a thousand grasping hands inside my mind prying my eyelids open, I feel her arm across my stomach and immediately fall asleep.


End file.
